


The Sorcerer's Accomplice

by ningloreth



Series: Tinker the House-elf [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5264549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ningloreth/pseuds/ningloreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like Dr Who, Tinker the house-elf seems to attract a disaster every Christmas. This year's disaster involves deceit, revenge... and <i>toys</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sorcerer's Accomplice

**Author's Note:**

> Tinker the house-elf is also the hero of [The Best Laid Plans...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/277352) and [Tinker's Yule Log Disaster](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1062069), but it's not necessary to have read those stories to follow this one.
> 
> Thank you to the mods for running the fest, and for inviting me to participate.
> 
> The prompt was _toys_.

_It was Christmas Eve._

 _And, this year, in addition to performing all of his normal duties,_ and _helping Mrs Draco organise her last-minute party for the boys and girls of the St Mungo's Orphanage for Magically Gifted Children, Tinker the house-elf had been asked—told—_ ordered _to help Mr Draco_ deceive _Mrs Draco..._

...

 _“Thank you, Tinker,” said Mrs Draco, when she'd finished spooning the scrambled eggs onto her plate._

_With a little bow, Tinker backed away from the breakfast table, carefully levitating the silver serving dish, and moving it towards the sideboard._

_“Draco...” said Mrs Draco._

_“Mm?” said Mr Draco, from behind the_ Daily Prophet.

_“Don’t forget to go to Diagon Alley, will you?”_

_The shock broke Tinker’s concentration, and his serving dish landed with a clatter. Mr Draco, hidden from Mrs Draco by the newspaper, gave Tinker a look that said:_ Don't you dare say a word! 

_Tinker hurried to straighten the silver lid._

_“Diagon Alley?” said Mr Draco, nonchalantly._

_“I_ knew _you’d forget,” said Mrs Draco. “What was the last thing I said to you last night?”_

 _Mr Draco laid his newspaper on the table. “Oh, y-_ E _-s!” he said._

_Mrs Draco looked quickly at Tinker, then looked away. “Before that,” she said._

_Mr Draco seemed to be thinking hard._

_“The party?” said Mrs Draco._

_“Toys,” said Mr Draco, triumphantly._

_“Just pick them up from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes—Ron’ll have them ready for you—and bring them home. Tinker will do the rest.”_

...

_“Have you got them?” said Mr Draco._

_Following Mr Draco's Plan, whilst Mr Draco had been keeping Mrs Draco busy, Tinker had sneaked upstairs and found two pieces of clothing, all black and lacy, which he now brought out from behind his back and handed to his young master._

_“Perfect,” said Mr Draco, slipping them into his pocket. “Remember: not a word—oh, you ready, Granger?”_

_Tinker's head whipped round so fast, his ears bumped._

_Mrs Draco was standing beside the fireplace. Nervously, Tinker watched her like a hawk, until she disappeared into the Floo. Mr Draco need not have worried; a herd of huge, green snakes could not have persuaded Tinker to reveal to Mrs Draco that Tinker had been_ rummaging _in her private lacy_ underthings _drawer._

**The Leaky Cauldron**

“What have you done to Tinker?” Hermione demanded, the moment she and Draco stepped out of the Floo. Their plan—a compromise—was to have a festive glass of mulled Butterbeer in the _Leaky Cauldron_ , and do some last minute Christmas shopping together, before Hermione went into work for a few hours.

“Sorry?” said her husband. His face bore a look of innocent puzzlement. 

“Tinker was looking at me,” said Hermione, “like I was a bomb he might accidentally detonate. If you've roped him into some silly plot to get _revenge_ on Ron—thanks, Hannah.” 

The landlady set two glasses of steaming beer on their table.

Hermione took a sip. “I'll admit it's six of Ron to half a dozen of you,” she said, “but, _please_ —for me—remember that Ron did apologise for last year.” 

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” said her husband, looking even more innocently innocent than before, which Hermione found exceedingly suspicious because, the previous year, a hidden charm on Ron's present had turned Draco's hair—and not just the hair on his _head_ —red for two weeks.

In the daytime, he'd had to wear a hat.

At night, he'd insisted on having the lights off.

Hermione sighed. “I give up,” she said. “Let's just decide which shops we're going to.”

_Mrs Draco's party for the boys and girls of the St Mungo's Orphanage for Magically Gifted Children was taking place at six o'clock that very night, and—because Mrs Draco had only volunteered to hold it after Mrs Theodore Nott had cancelled—Tinker was struggling to get the Small Ballroom ready in time._

 _He had set Matty to dusting the plaster work and Meddle to scrubbing the floor, Turnip to cleaning the windows and Twinky to doing the decorations, the kitchen-elves to making sandwiches, jelly and ice cream, and Tinker himself was supposed to be shrinking some tables and chairs, but it was very hard to concentrate when, all the time, he knew he was_ deceiving _Mrs Draco—_

 _“A-_ choo _!” said Matty._

_Tinker shrank another chair._

_“A-a-a-a-_ choo _!” said Matty again._

 _Frowning, Tinker turned to look at Matty..._

_Matty had brought out a handkerchief, and was wiping her very red nose._

_“Batty has got a code,” said Matty. “A-_ choo _!”_

 _“A-_ choo _!” said Meddle, making Tinker flinch. “Beddle has caught Batty's code.”_

 _“A-_ choo _,” said Turnip, making Tinker flinch even more._

 _“A-choo!—A-a-a-a-_ CHOOOO _!” said Twinky._

**Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions**

Draco kissed his wife goodbye, and watched her step into the Floo. 

_How did_ I, he wondered, _marry a woman who works on Christmas Eve?_

Today, though, Granger's workaholism would come in handy. Madam Malkin had opened a new department, called _Naughty but Nice_ , which Draco had been itching to visit since an advertising flyer had arrived one morning in a shower of heart-shaped confetti.

The merchandise proved fascinating, and he spent some time inspecting the sexy lingerie, the sensual potions, and the various... toys, before asking to speak to Madam Malkin herself.

“How may I help you, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco brought out a sketch he'd spent several enjoyable hours creating. “I want you to make this,” he said.

He could see that she was impressed with his idea, but she shook her head: “Our _Naughty_ collection is exclusively designed by me.”

“Well... Think of this as a blank canvas,” Draco improvised; “something to design _upon_ , once you've made up the original for me.” He couldn't help smiling at the thought of his own fantasy's being displayed in the shop. 

_Right next to that black leather corset_ , he thought. 

_Which I may buy for Granger, as well..._

Madam Malkin held out her hand; Draco gave her the sketch.

“When would you want this?” she asked.

“Today.”

“Today?! Oh, no, Mr Malfoy, I'd need more time than that!” She tried to return the drawing. 

“I'm willing to pay,” said Draco, refusing to take it. “Double.”

Madam Malkin had another look at the sketch. “Triple,” she said. “And the copyright on the finished garment's mine.”

“Done,” said Draco. “I'll be back at three.”

...

 **Quality Quidditch Supplies**

After waiting a few moments in the Ministry Atrium, until she was certain her husband would have moved on elsewhere, Hermione took the Floo back to _The Leaky Cauldron_ , and made straight for Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“Ah, Mrs Malfoy,” said the owner, his voice throbbing with emotion, “it has _arrived_!” 

He drew a key from his breast pocket, unlocked one of the glass-fronted cupboards, and brought out what looked, to Hermione, like a perfectly ordinary broomstick, lying in a long, velvet-lined carrying case. 

“The legendary Firebolt Excelsior,” he said, “the crème de la crème of brooms—only five have existed in the entire history of the wizarding world, and—may I say, Mrs Malfoy—it has been an _honour_ to commission one on your behalf.”

Hermione tried to look gratified.

“Each Excelsior,” he said, reverently lifting the broom from its velvet nest and presenting it to her, “is numbered and signed by the designer, Mr Henry Firebolt, himself, before being indelibly engraved with its owner's name—here, d'you see?”

Hermione read the inscription, _Draco Abraxas Malfoy_.

 _It's all hype_ , she thought, _but Draco will love it_.

She paid for the broom, fed it into her little beaded bag, and hurried back to the Ministry, and the mountain of casework she was determined to finish before Christmas.

_Half an hour of escalating A-_ choo _s later, Tinker decided to pack the others off to bed with a mug of hot honey and lemon, and do all of the work himself._

**Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes**

“Where's the other one?” said Draco.

“If you mean Ron,” said George, “he's in the workshop—it _is_ our busiest time of the year. You'll have to make do with me.” He set a small box on the lurid pink counter. “That'll be one hundred and sixty Galleons.”

Draco checked the invoice for any evidence of fraud. One hundred and sixty Galleons was a substantial sum and, although marriage to Hermione had technically made him an adopted member of the Weasley clan, he wasn't sure whether that was any less dangerous than being a sworn enemy...

 _To: Twenty toys_ , he read, _suitable for magically gifted boys and girls aged seven to ten years_.

“Let me see them,” he said, cautiously.

George opened the box. 

Draco rummaged through its contents. “They're all dolls...”

“ _Action figures_ ,” George corrected. “See? This one's a potioneer—he's got a cauldron and a stirring rod, and jars of ingredients, and he'll brew you a mean Pepperup Potion if you ask him. This one's a dragon wrangler, with a fireproof jerkin and helmet, and a whip. This one's a Seeker, with a Firebolt and Snitch.” He pulled the doll out of its box. “You can customise his uniform to match your favourite team— _Chudley Canons!_ —and watch him win a game.” 

George tossed the Snitch into the air and the little, orange-clad Seeker shot off the counter, caught it, and swept around the shop in a victory lap, pumping his tiny fist in the air.

“Twenty accidents waiting to happen,” said Draco.

“Nah,” said George. “We've limited their actions; the kids can't come to any harm.”

“Hmm,” said Draco. _His_ concern was for the furniture. He sorted through the rest of the dolls and brought out a female wearing an apron and carrying a mop and a bucket. “What's this one?” 

“That one's for girls,” said George.

Draco stared at the toy, gobsmacked. _There is no way_ , he thought, _that_ my _wife is going to give little boys action figures and little girls domestic drudges. She'll cream Weasley if she finds out he's tried to sell me..._

A smile spread across his pale face. “You got a quill?” he asked, and signed the invoice with a flourish. “Nice doing business with you and The King, Weasley.”

_“Where's Meddle and the others?” said Mr Draco._

_Tinker paused amidst a very complicated bit of magic, involving three feather dusters and three yellow dusting cloths, to answer: “They is all very ill with colds, Mr Draco, and Tinker has sent them to bed.”_

_Tinker waved his hand, and the dusters began their work._

_Mr Draco looked around the Small Ballroom, frowning. “Will you have it ready in time?” he asked._

_“Yes, Mr Draco,” said Tinker, crossing his fingers just in case._

_“What if_ you _get ill?”_

_“Tinker never gets ill, Mr Draco,” said Tinker._

_“Okay, then,” said Mr Draco. “Here's the toys.” He set a box on one of the dusty side tables. “Granger says you know what to do with them.”_

_Tinker nodded vehemently. “Wrap them up and put them under the tree, Mr Draco,” he said, his ears bobbing. “After the tree is done.”_

_“I'll leave you to it, then,” said Mr Draco._

_And did._

**Twillfit and Tatting's**

Back in Diagon Alley, Draco went straight to Twillfit and Tatting's.

“Mr _Mal_ foy,” gushed Mr Twillfit, greeting Draco with a deep bow.

“How is dear Mrs Malfoy, senior?” said Mr Tatting, effusively.

 _A superior establishment_ , thought Draco. “She's very well, thank you.”

“And how may we help you?” said the two men, together.

Draco explained that he wanted a Christmas gift for his wife. “Something beautiful”—he brought out the sexy bra and French knickers he'd got Tinker to nab that morning—“like these.”

Mr Twillfit examined the bra closely, and Mr Tatting the knickers. 

“Exquisite,” said Mr Tatting, wistfully.

“I had them made in Paris,” said Draco.

“I'm sure you won't be disappointed with our own humble efforts, Mr Malfoy,” said Mr Twillfit. “Please, take a seat.” 

Draco spent the next hour choosing lingerie from Twillfit and Tatting's Winter Collection, modelled for him by a parade of nubile young witches.

Well, _someone_ had to do it.

_Tinker had dusted the fireplace, brushed and blacked the grate, and laid a fire; he'd polished the woodwork; he'd hung garlands between the pillars, and hauled the Christmas tree in from the yard—all by himself—and decorated it with scores of baubles, and tinsel, and strings of Muggle fairy lights. He'd cast a Lumos charm on the lights (and then a Muffling Spell to cover the hissing, humming and crackling noises that all Muggle things seemed to make)._

_But there were still a hundred and one things left to do._

_Exhausted, Tinker flopped onto one of the little chairs and tried to Plan the rest of his time. After a few minutes, he decided that the next most urgent task was to wrap the presents._

_He opened Mr Draco's box, and peered inside._

_The magically extended space was crammed with smaller boxes, each with a little window at the front. Tinker took out the first toy—a disturbingly life-like wizard, with a tiny cauldron—set it on a sheet of wrapping paper, and snapped his fingers. The paper folded itself neatly round the box, then a length of ribbon snaked around the parcel, and tied itself in an elaborate bow._

_Tinker placed the wrapped present under the Christmas tree, and took out a second toy. This one was a little woman wearing a flowered apron and carrying a tiny mop and bucket._

_Tinker felt a pang of fellow-feeling._

...

_Normally, Tinker needed to be lying down—or, at least, sitting down—thinking hard before he came up with a Plan, but occasionally a Plan would suddenly come to Tinker, fully developed, whilst he was doing something else._

This _Plan was a sudden, fully developed, frantically-cleaning-the-floor sort of Plan._

_Tinker set down his mop, selected a particular present, unwrapped it, and carefully took it out of the box._

_The little cleaning woman looked up at Tinker with round, glassy-blue eyes._

_Tinker set her on the floor._

_Then he brought out her duster, and her dustpan and brush, and set them down beside her._

_“_ Animatio _,” he said._

**The Ministry of Magic**

Hermione glanced at the hour glass on her desk; the sand level hadn't noticeably changed since the last time she'd looked.

She wondered what Draco was doing, and wished she were doing it with him.

_Hanging from one of the chandeliers, feather duster in hand, Tinker looked down at his tiny co-worker._

_The blank expression on her porcelain face was quite scary, but there was no denying her cleaning skills. She'd mopped the entire marble floor in minutes, and then she'd gone back into her box, found a tiny chamois leather, and started on the windows._

_Tinker decided it was safe to leave her working whilst he Apparated to the kitchen and made sure that the food was up to scratch._

...

_When Tinker got back to the Small Ballroom—having tested a little too much jelly and ice cream for comfort—he was surprised to find not one but three tiny women cleaning the windows._

_Tinker looked at the torn wrapping paper and the bits of shredded box. He would have to Transfigure the pieces back together, and re-wrap everything once the women had finished, but it would surely be worth the effort..._

**Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions**

Draco returned to Madam Malkin's on the dot of three. 

The robes were ready—though Draco wasn't sure that 'robes' really described the sheath of shiny scarlet rubber that Madam Malkin had made from his sketch. He had a sudden vision his _wife's_ body in tight, wet-looking red, and immediately wished he hadn't, because something potentially embarrassing started to make its presence felt.

“We've added a Supporting Charm, here,” said Madam Malkin, unhelpfully, “and a light Clinging Charm, _here_...”

Draco wondered if he had enough magical mojo to cast the _opposite_ of a Clinging Charm on that part of his own clothing.

“...and,” Madam Malkin continued, relentlessly, “the garment comes with accessories.” She showed him a pair handcuffs.

Draco's charm flopped; his problem didn't—he would just have to brazen it out.

“Two,” he said, slowly and calmly. “I need two.”

“Two pairs of handcuffs? That will cost—”

“No,” said Draco. “Two sets of _robes_.”

“Mr Malfoy,” said Madam Malkin, frostily, “I've already _done_ the impossible—”

“One thousand Galleons,” said Draco, recklessly, “for a second set of robes—just let me alter the sketch.”

_Tinker froze in the doorway of the Small Ballroom._

_He'd only been gone for a moment but, in that time, another pile of shredded packaging had appeared on the floor._

_Cautiously, Tinker looked around the room._

_The three little women had finished cleaning the windows and had begun polishing the woodwork. Tinker had already polished the woodwork but, for the moment, that didn't bother him._

_What_ did _bother him was the little man with the overall robes and ladder, who had begun stripping the paint from the plasterwork with tiny Fire-making Spells._

 _And what bothered Tinker_ even more _was the other little man, dressed in leathers, whose tiny dragon—_

_Tinker rubbed his eyes._

_—yes, tiny_ dragon _, was helping burn off the paint!_

_“Nooooo!” cried Tinker, waving his arms. “Stop! Stop! ST-O-O-O-O-O-O-P!”_

_The dragon did not stop._

_“Finite Incantatem!” Tinker yelled._

After a brisk walk up and down a freezing Diagon Alley—which proved more than sufficient to cool his ardour—Draco collected the two sets of rubber robes from Madam Malkin, and Apparated home.

The Manor felt warm and inviting—a testament to Granger's cheerful influence—and Draco smiled at the thought of spending Christmas with his wife: two long, lazy days of eating festive food, and drinking excellent wine, and cuddling before a roaring fire... Then fun and games at bedtime!

He'd intended to get Tinker to wrap Granger's presents, but it occurred to him now that Granger might be annoyed if she learned he'd exposed an innocent house-elf to something so... sexy. And Tinker was already jittery, so—whatever promises he might make to Draco—he'd be bound to blurt it all out if _Mrs Draco_ asked him.

Draco didn't want to risk that. He'd have to wrap them himself.

He headed for the Small Ballroom, to cadge some of Tinker's wrapping paper and ribbon. 

...

Standing in the doorway of the Small Ballroom, Draco's first thought was that the spell the Weasleys had used to limit the dolls must be piss-poor. 

His second thought was that he'd been right to worry about the furniture. 

His third thought—spoken out loud—was, “WHAT THE FUCK'S GOING ON?!”

“The toys is out of control, Mr Draco,” cried Tinker, sprinting after the little Chudley Cannons Seeker, who was scattering victory confetti down whole the length of the ballroom, whilst the hapless house-elf jump-grab-missed, jump-grab-missed him.

 _No shit_ , thought Draco—there were three little women slopping water all over the floor; there were two little men and a dragon burning paint off the walls; there were two tiny herbologists cutting slivers from the Christmas tree; there was a potioneer brewing something foul and smoking in the hearth; there were two little Aurors shooting Stunners here, there and everywhere; and, of course, there was the little Seeker, who, having spread all of his confetti over the wet floor, was back to chasing the Snitch between the marble columns, colliding with the decorations and pulling them down, whilst Tinker tried in vain to put them back up again.

 _Woooooosh!_ A blast of dragon-fire ignited one of the falling garlands.

 _Hissssssss!_ It dropped into a puddle of soapy water, and fizzled out.

 _Even if they weren't destroying the house_ , thought Draco, philosophically, _they'd be bloody terrifying. Whoever thought of giving children an_ homunculus _to play with?_

“FINITE INCANTATEM!” he bellowed, dodging a tiny Stunner.

But the only response to his General Counter-Spell—apart from a dismayed, “ _No, Mr Draco!_ ” from Tinker—was an ominous ripping sound... 

Then another wave of toys spilled out of their shredded boxes, and joined the havoc.

...

**The Ministry of Magic**

Hermione looked at the sluggish hour-glass, at the pile of parchment-work, and sighed. 

_It's Christmas Eve_ , she thought.

She imagined her husband, lounging on the sofa in front of the Library fire, and herself snuggling up beside him...

She'd already made sure that her vulnerable clients would be as comfortable as possible over Christmas. She sealed her scrolls, picked up her little, beaded bag (with the precious Firebolt Excelsior inside), and headed down to the Atrium.

...

“READY, TINKER?” Draco shouted. 

By trial and error—and thanks to a brilliant bit of lateral thinking on Draco's part—they had devised a way to stun the toys long enough for the house-elf to catch them.

_Tinker grabbed a storage jar, pulled off the lid and, fixing his eyes on the little potioneer, prepared himself._

_“NOWWWWWW!” shouted Mr Draco._

_Mr Draco's pellet of crumpled wrapping paper shot through the air and hit the potioneer on the chest._

_The doll staggered backwards, his arms windmilling..._

_Tinker stayed with him..._

_The doll tumbled from the mantelpiece._

_Tinker caught him in the jar, and slammed on the lid._

_“Five!” said Mr Draco, already crumpling up more wrapping paper. “Woman in pink next.”_

_Tinker put the potioneer with the woman in blue, the man in overall robes, one of the herbologists, and the dragon handler—all sealed in jars, and all trying to carry on doing their worst, even though trapped behind glass._

_Tinker picked up another empty jar._

_Mr Draco had tied a strange, stretchy red thing—which, when Tinker had first glimpsed it, had looked like a very short (and not very warm) version of one of Mrs Draco's evening robes—between two legs of an upturned table, and was using it to launch the paper balls._

_Mr Draco took aim. “NOWWWWWW!” he shouted, and let fly._

_Tinker rushed in and scooped up the stunned little cleaning woman._

...

_“Okay,” said Mr Draco, “I need to fix the catapult...”_

_Tinker went to fetch another empty jar... and almost jumped out of his skin, for Mrs Draco was standing in the doorway._

_“The toys is being dangerous, Mrs Draco,” said Tinker, spreading his arms, hoping to keep her back. Then, because Mrs Draco's puzzled frown made him feel guilty, he added: “Tinker is sorry he used the Animation Spell.” And when_ that _confession didn't seem enough, Tinker made another: “And Tinker is very, very sorry he went through Mrs Draco's private lacy underthings drawer.”_

_Tinker ran to the wall, and bumped his head against it._

_“No!” said Mrs Draco, grabbing hold of him. “It's all right, Tinker! Whatever Mr Draco got you to do, it's all right.” She gave Tinker a big hug. “We'll talk about it later—but what did you mean about the toys' being dangerous—?”_

_“_ GRANGER! _” Mr Draco shouted, from inside the Small Ballroom. “Ow! Ow! Stop it, you little bastards! Stoppit!”_

_“Draco?!” Mrs Draco put Tinker down, and rushed into the Small Ballroom._

_Tinker followed._

_Mr Draco was being attacked by two little Beaters, flying high above his head, smashing Bludgers at him._

_“You say you animated them?” said Mrs Draco to Tinker._

_“Tinker animated one of them, Mrs Draco,” Tinker admitted. “But the others animated themselves.”_

_“Finite—” Mrs Draco began._

_“NOOOOOOOOO!!” yelled Mr Draco and Tinker together._

_“The Counter-Spell—ow!—only makes things worse, Granger—owww!” said Mr Draco, protecting his head with his arms. “Nothing stops them. You have to trap them. If I could just get above the little buggers...”_

_“Above...?” said Mrs Draco. “Yes, you can!” She opened her little, beaded bag and pulled out a long wooden box. “Here!” she said, tossing a broomstick to Mr Draco._

_Mr Draco caught it, swung his leg over it, and took off. He whizzed round the ballroom, and flew straight at Tinker, who, seizing an empty jar in one hand and grabbing Mr Draco's outstretched hand with the other, hopped up behind his young master._

_“Catch the Bludgers,” said Mr Draco, “and the game's over.”_

_It took Tinker a few attempts to get both Bludgers into the jar. Mr Draco seemed to be enjoying himself, making fast ascents and tight turns and, on one very low swoop, Mr Draco's foot hit Tinker's mop bucket and Tinker got soaked but, eventually, the two little iron balls were jarred, and the two tiny Beaters were left flying aimlessly between the marble columns._

_Mr Draco landed beside Mrs Draco._

_“A Firebolt_ Excelsior _, Granger!” he said. “I'd say you'd found the way to my heart, if I wasn't already crazy about you.”_

_Mr Draco gave Mrs Draco a big kiss._

_(And Tinker looked away)._

...

_Mrs Draco took charge._

_“We'll have the party in the Library,” she said, “which is nicer than the Small Ballroom, anyway.” She dried Tinker with a Warming Charm, and sent Mr Draco upstairs to bathe and change._

...

 _Whilst Tinker was bringing the children's furniture into the Library, he heard Mrs Draco saying, over the Floo connection, “I can't_ believe _that even you would be stupid enough to put a curse on a child's toy!”_

_“I'm not a complete moron, Hermione,” Mr Ronald Weasley replied, and Tinker heard Mrs Draco make a funny noise. “The curse is designed to irritate Malfoys, so the kids are perfectly safe—unless the ferret's been playing away—”_

_“_ RON! _” said Mrs Draco, in an tremendous voice._

_Tinker knew that 'ferret' was a nasty name for Mr Draco, but he didn't know why Mrs Draco would be angry with Mr Ronald Weasley for saying that Mr Draco might have been playing Quidditch, especially since Mrs Draco had bought Mr Draco a new broom for Christmas..._

_“If you're that worried,” said Mr Ronald Weasley, “just cast a_ Purgio _on them and they'll be restored to factory settings.”_

_“All right,” said Mrs Draco. “But don't think you're getting off the hook that easily, Ronald Weasley. After Christmas, you and I are having a serious talk about sexism in jokes, games and toys...”_

_Tinker didn't hear the rest of the conversation, but he was very surprised—and very pleased—to learn that Mr Ronald Weasley's curse had thought that_ Tinker _was a Malfoy._

“Pity I didn't get a chance to wrap them,” said Draco, later, as he and his wife were climbing the stairs to bed.

Granger had discovered her rubber robes whilst helping Tinker clear up the mess in the Small Ballroom, and had rescued them; she seemed to like them.

“I designed them myself,” he pointed out.

“Mmm—I'd guessed that,” she replied, closing the bedroom door, and turning to him with an expression that promised _fun_ : “Shall I put them on? Technically, it's not Christmas Day for another twenty minutes, yet, but—”

“It's already Christmas Day somewhere else in the world,” said Draco, finishing the sentence for her.

Laughing, she unzipped her Muggle evening gown and, with a sinuous movement that had Draco blessing Mugglekind for the invention of zips and slinky evening wear, let the gown fall to her feet. 

“You've had a hard day,” she said, shimmying into the rubber robes. “Are you sure you've got the energy to make love to me?”

Draco watched her bend forward and ease herself into the charmed bodice, then straighten up, and smooth the clinging red skirt over her hips. “Merlin, woman,” he said, hoarsely, “do you _seriously_ doubt I'll be up to it?”

“Well,” said his wife, grinning as she climbed onto the bed and straddled him, “I can see that _little_ Draco's up to it...” She leaned down, and—with her gorgeous, rubber-clad arse in the air—nuzzled the evidence. “I'm just worried that _big_ Draco might run out of steam.”

“Then cuff big Draco to the bed,” said Draco, summoning the matching handcuffs, “and”—he reached down beneath her, and unbuttoned his fly—“have your way with the other _big_ Draco.”

His wife laughed again and, to Draco's infinite pleasure, treated the other big Draco to a long, lingering, and very inquisitive, kiss.

...

“By the way,” said Granger, sleepily, “what present did you get for Ron?”

Lying beneath her—thoroughly shagged, and most satisfyingly empty—with her perfectly uplifted bosom against his chest and her perfectly clung-to backside under his hand, Draco smiled. “Let's just say,” he said, lazily, “that my original design wasn't intended for _you_.”

“Wasn't...?” She raised her head.

“You were getting some tastefully sexy lingerie from Twillfit and Tatting's—you still are, officially. Weasley's getting a bigger version of these robes, tailored to his, um, manhood.”

“And spelled to do what, exactly?” his wife asked.

“He'll look good in scarlet,” said Draco. “It'll match his face.”

“You're a pervert,” said his wife. “And Ron will—oh god, Draco, next Christmas, we'll need to hire a Curse Breaker!”

_Up in his bedroom, putting on the warm, reindeer 'onesie' Mrs Draco had given him as an early Christmas present, Tinker was busy thinking..._

 _Mrs Draco had explained to Tinker that, if a husband wanted to give his wife a surprise, it was all right for him to_ deceive _her a little first._

 _Tinker wasn't sure if Mrs Draco was telling the truth, or whether she was just trying to make Tinker feel better, but if she_ was _telling Tinker a white lie, it must be working, because it_ did _make Tinker feel better..._

_Except for the soreness in his throat, that was, and the sharp feeling at the back of his nose—_

_“A-_ choo _!” said Tinker. ___

_(_ Oh, no _)._

... 

_“Just get some rest,” said Mrs Draco, giving Tinker a mug of steaming honey and lemon she had made for him herself._

_“A-_ choo _!” said Tinker. “A-a-a-aaaaaaa-_ CHOOOOOO _!”_

____


End file.
